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These days have been hard. I spend most of my free time in bed, with the darkness covering me. I was asked recently two questions that caused me pause. "When was the last time you felt happy? What do you do for fun?" I haven't felt happy in a long time. However, I have grown increasingly better at faking it, and perhaps that is why I am so tired at 5pm.

I have lost 14 pounds so far this year. My self worth is directly tied to my body. Many of you have read about my disdain for the body in which I live. I cringe upon passing mirrors, I tug at the clothing the covers it, uncomfortable and annoyed at how they feel on my skin. I just want to shrink away to nothingness. With these few pounds of weight loss has come even more self destructive behavior. With every bite, the hate grows deeper. The roots continue to tangle in my veins. I can almost feel it strangling my very essence of self. While my close friends know of this weight loss, many don't until now. And it doesn't even matter. There is so far to go, and it just feels pointless and never ending. But I am starting to enjoy that emptiness feeling.

The self destruction is easy. The abusive relationships I engage in are a way to punish myself for all the wrong. I took Psych 101, I know what I am doing. To punish myself for how disgusting I have let myself become. Fat, alone, childless, and damaged. I allow these physical and emotional blows. I crave them now, I can't stand who I have become. So when he shows up, I allow it all to unfold however it will. So, don't tell me to stop, for it is clearly what I want and deserve. I detach from myself and live somewhere else, up on the ceiling, covering my eyes, at least until he leaves, where I reenter, and just weep for what I allow, for what hurts, and for how I know I will allow it again.

On this Valentines day, I am reminded, once again, of the touchless life in which I live. I was told about "cuddle con". A convention in Portland about platonic touch and how people were going to cuddle one another. My first thought was "that sounds kinda cool", and only a fraction of a moment later did I think "I would hate to make someone feel like they have to touch me". The touch that comes towards me now is only one of power and aggression. It is a strange dichotomy that I long to be held, and loved, and kissed, and desired, and at the very same time, I shrink away at the thought. There is not one cell in my body that believes anyone would ever want to do any of those things. If for a moment, they did, the thought of someone touching this body disgusts me. The touch that occurs now is not love, I know this. It is abusive, tragic, dark, and wrong. All the things I feel about myself manifested into.

Dear reader or friend, I apologize for the endless misery that I carry around with me. I just needed to or wanted to get some things out into the universe.

I Loved Him

Maybe it is the holiday's. Maybe the darkness of the season. Maybe it is seeing the depth of my Grandparents love since my Grandfather had a stroke. Yeah, that's probably it. Whatever the reason, I have been thinking about how much I loved Andrew, and just how hurt I am upon reflecting that I do not think that love was returned, at least not in the same way.

I remember one of the last interactions I had with him was finding a spiral notebook and flipping for a clear sheet of paper, I came across what appeared to be a list of some sort. After reading it, it was the most heart-wrenching list I had ever read in my life. He had made a list of things he wanted in a woman - these are the things I remember: someone younger, thinner, into more activities, more fun... Those are just what I remember, the list was much longer.

As you can imagine, then, as well as now, I just cried. The kind of tears that come from a dark and broken place.  He didn't love me. How long ago was it that he fell out of love with me? Why didn't he talk to me about what he wanted? Instead, alone, I found his list of wants. I am not getting any younger, I am certainly not thin, I didn't understand what he meant about activities, since I always asked him to do things and he was never interested in doing them - did he offer ideas? no. I guess I am no fun either. Reading these things felt like a punch in the tummy, the face. I felt beat up.

You are probably wondering if I confronted him. I did. I tearfully handed him the list, and simply walked away. He said he was so sorry that I had read it, and that he never intended for me to find it.

I did find it. Even though it was a year and a half ago, the wound is still fresh. It still oozes. It has infected my sense of self and overall worth as a woman, as a partner.